Time to do some summer reruns for those who might have missed the initial podcasts.
Short and Sweet includes 6 short stories and one non-fiction homage to my Irish mother. A special Christmas podcast features poetry and sentiment dedicated to my nephew, Tim, who was born on Christmas Eve. This segues to Trio a trilogy of three books: Ginny, Dinner with Sharon Flynn and Meggie, all primarily set in Ireland and lovingly telling the stories of Ginny and her life.
A Promise Kept is a ballad poem about a young woman writer finding her place.
Songs of my Father is that—sheet music for three of Dads songs performed by me (as best I could) and some special poems included in the book.
The Play honors the community theater buffs and that delightful culture.
Hearts of Shamrock is an homage to my Irish mother.
Finally, The Back 40 is new and leads into 98.6, a selection of which will be shared, prefaced by a new song, Swan Song, which may give a clue to the end of Short and Sweet. As we used to say when I was young—that’s all she wrote, Baby.— until Little Brother’s Quilt completes the Reilly story and hopefully leaves a Happy Dance in all the listeners’ reverie
Well, hello everyone. It's Gail Hoxy again in our quotes regular podcast. I snuck in a little one for Memorial Day, couldn't resist. Wanted to thank our troops to all the podcast family, everybody who listens to me. I I'm grateful for all that they do for us to keep us safe. And so I included that little um dedication poem that for I won a poetry contest in Winston. I know the recording was not that great on that presentation. I apologize for that. But um anyway, here we go today, and I'm back with Twilight, the song that I love, and I think represents um the sky's the limit. This podcast, because we're entering into summer, full speed ahead, um, and all the boats are out on the lake. I can see them. Um I do, I do see them, and they're beautiful. I love the sound of them even. I'm a gearhead at heart, I guess I never changed in that. Um, but I'm going to share with you something that I wrote. It hasn't really been published uh in that same vernacular in Amazon or um I'm I'm just gonna share it with you anyway because it's that time of the year, and I think it's a good time to pay homage to such a beautiful place as Highland Lake in Winsted. And the name of this little booklet, I guess you'd call it, is Lake Inspired. That's the name of it. And we'll begin with a little poem that I've dedicated at the beginning of this little chaplet, if you want to call it that. And it's entitled The Gift of the Lake. Sapphire in the Sun, Blue Haven for fish and ducks and blue heron gliding on top of you on a warm September day. My dreams have come true. The yellow pontoon goes around the perimeter, and nothing can compare to this. My infinite immersion and my ultimate Christmas gift to me. I realized that's in September, and it was um I actually did go with my family, rented the the yellow pontoon, that's true. Um went around the perimeter of Highland Lake and um for my birthday a couple of years ago, and it was just delightful. So that's what that refers to. And this also is about the lake and about my evolution, if you want to call it that, um, with the lake, and I think you'll see from the beginning. I bring you back quite a ways, and then I'll bring you forward. So bear with me and let's go have some fun in the lake, okay? Quotes Ed, she's still not sleeping, so I guess we have to take her for a ride around the lake. Okay, kiddo, wrap her up in a blanket though. It's chilly, and my heater is not working that well in the truck. Agnes checked on young Ed, who was twelve, and Joan, who was ten, and left a note that they were taking Gail for a ride to help her get to sleep. Not far into the elliptical journey around Highland Lake, little Gail began to get drowsy and snuggled up with her mom and fell fast asleep. That was back in 1944 when Gail was born. In the years that followed, Ed and Agnes used to go around the lake for pure recreation. Dad would say, Hey kiddos, want to go for a ride around the lake? Gail would be the first one to jump into the kitchen and say, I do, I do, I do. In the name of transparency, I need to confess that I am Gail, and that was eight, and this is 80 years later, since that ride, beginning in 1944, which I'm happy to say continues every Sunday, now in 2025. Parentheses, that's when this booklet was written. It still continues in 2026. Thanks to my daughter Chris and granddaughter Shannon who graciously chariot me around my beautiful Highland Lake every Sunday. It changes so much day to day, month to month, season to season, and always it is the center of my existence. I love my Highland Lake. I've written poetry to it and about it, and I will share more of that in a bit. My brother, excuse me, my brother and sister were twelve years older and ten years older, respectively, than I, and had already begun to swim and congregate and gather with their friends at Highland Lake when I arrived. I benefited from their swimming expertise. My sister Joan took me faithfully to what is now Holland Beach and taught me how to swim. I have a picture of me in the little cove with my arm outstretched. Of course, I really didn't know how to swim at age four, but I was showing off for her. I learned how to swim and have loved Highland Lake so much in every regard. I have skied on it. I have operated a boat on it. I have my boating license, that's in parentheses, thanks to Northwestern Connecticut Community College. And in general, I have a focal point in my yard. I live across from Stu Jones' Jaguar Garage, and I get to see my beautiful lake every single day and marvel at the beauty of it. The thrill of it has never left me. And in my poetry, which I referenced, I will share with you in this love letter to the lake. You'll see how deeply Highland Lake has touched me and how much I love it. I used to roller skate at Woodland Park, which I now believe has been converted to the boat launch. There was a tall diving board there. I don't know how I did it now as I look back on this, but I did jump from that skyscraper diving board, but I never dove from it. I witnessed some beautiful divers and some beautiful dives off of that huge board. So many years passed, and as I recall, not a single week went by without some immersion in the lake or around the lake. And last year, for my 80th birthday, my family and I rented one of the big yellow pontoon boats from Winsted Marina, and my son-in-law Don piloted the boat in a rental tour. We went around the lake maybe twice because it was a good way around. It was a beautiful, beautiful September day, as only some September days can be. The sky was beautiful cerulean blue, and the lake matched it perfectly. Our day was spectacular, and the water was gentle and lapped around the comfortable pontoon boat. We saw the blue heron and ducks. They tolerated us and even celebrated my 80th birthday. I will share now more of the poetry that I've been promising, and I hope you enjoy it. I know it has been a great joy for me all of these years to be a part of my Highland Lake. Back in the mid-1990s, a musical group from the Andes performed at Northwestern Connecticut Community College. Pan flutes and beautiful guitars played wonderful music just downtown from the lake. I was so thrilled with the music, I bought a cassette, Andy's Monta, end quote, and played it near Risha Beach. And I wrote a poem about that experience, and I'll share that with you now. It's called And the Waters Danced. I gave the lake a gift after all the one she's given me. Parked against the barrier, I rolled the windows down and turned full up the volume while the cassette slowly unwound. Ancient wooden flutes and drums played by Indians of the South. Black haired calm ones with true wisdom in their souls. Atlantis in the Andes with compassion for the chaos in the world. Sweet chilling flute trills and a rain stick rippled out across the water. Shivers of joy fled across the surface as the ancient songs united with the water, and the waters danced in such a way that I knew my gift was welcome. The wind carried sound waves through the water waves, and wind smooth fleeting patches drew the birds around in circles, and my heart danced not only to the music, but to the joy I brought the lake, like hearing church bells ring when the sky is full of rainbow. And in final tribute to the lake, I give you the sun kissed bride. From a plane it looks like melted silver. The sun upon the lake. From here across the street it looks like a mirror with no blue. The sun changes all one way or another, for good or for bad, and sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, till death day part, and probably not even then. The sun and the lake are wed. Maybe not blissfully, but certainly beautifully. The lake is the sun-kissed bride, and we are all invited to the wedding whenever the radiant sun shines and merges with our glorious lake. Well, that's my tribute. That's the book that I wrote called Lake Inspired. Again, it hasn't been published, but I share it with you so you can enjoy some of the deep feelings I have for the lake. And I'm sure if you live near water or come up to Highland Lake, you share those feelings with me. I wish you all the best and I will be back next week. I'm not sure what we're going to be what I'm going to be sharing with you, but I promise I'll try to do my best. Till then, love you. Have a wonderful day.
